I have four sons. Each of these boys are a fascinating study in that species I have come to know as male. I have two sisters and NO Brothers.
Men have always broken my heart. It began with my father who was divorced from my mother when I was almost six years old. I say almost six because what I remember most about the separation adjustment is the first Christmas he wasn’t home. That was four days before I turned six. The First Christmas without my daddy is a story in itself. I will save it for another time. From what I know of my parent’s difficult relationship, it was my mother who wished for the divorce, not my father.
Well nevertheless, as with all failed marriages, it is the children who suffer most and I was no exception. I remember visiting my father when my parents were initially separated, but as time passed the visits became less frequent. Even when I did see him, I remember a man who slept a lot and left my care to my grandmother.
I loved my daddy dearly and when I heard he would be picking me up for a visit I was overcome with excitement and joy! I missed him and spent hours daydreaming about him. I can’t remember anything very specific but I still have the picture in my mind even now of him hugging me as a small girl. Such a comforting and safe place it felt to be in his arms.
My daddy did not have the same dreams. Even more clearly, I can remember waiting at the door, on the front porch or front lawn, searching the end of the street for the approaching sparkly brown Ford Pinto. I used to love laying in the back looking out the back window at the mountains surrounding the valley I called home. I see the small girl with brown hair sitting for hours waiting for a car that never arrives. What kind of man does that to a sweet little innocent girl. A daddy’s girl. I looved him so much. I still feel the sorrow of that little girl.
Move forward through poor choices in boyfriends and a failed first marraige to an alcoholic who physically and mentally abused me. The verbal abuse began early on in the relationship, but I could hardly call the six months between the day I met my first husband and the day I married him a relationship. We were both drinking a lot and yes, there was drug use and abuse. It should come as no surprise, given my insecurities and inability to care for myself. The first physical abuse began about a year into the marriage-right around the time I became pregnant with my first child. It wasn’t until my son was 6 months old that I began to seriously consider leaving. Shortly after my son Tyler turned one and I saw him cringe at the sound of his father’s voice, I knew it was time to go.
Since then I have remarried and Tyler now has THREE brothers … yes let me say again I have FOUR SONS…more to follow.
